Loud shouts and laughter filled the air, a cacophony of excitement echoing across the vast derby grounds. The arena was packed to the brim, a sea of spectators who had traveled from across the country and beyond—for the most anticipated event of the season.
But this year, it wasn't just the thunder of hooves or the promise of glory that drew the crowds.
It was her.
For the first time in derby history, a woman was competing. A woman who dared to break tradition, to challenge centuries of male dominance, and to do the unthinkable—ride not just for pride, but for legacy.
---
Patricia stood beside Liberty in the stables, her gloved hands brushing through his mane with practiced ease. She wore a sleek black riding jacket, crisp white slacks, polished black boots, and thick gloves that hugged her fingers like armor. Her wavy black hair flowed freely down her back, catching the golden light that filtered through the stable slats.
She whispered softly to Liberty, feeding him a treat, when—
"Let me guess..."
She froze.
That voice.
She turned toward the entrance, her eyes narrowing.
Bernard stood there, dressed in a fitted white shirt, black slacks, and gleaming boots. His hair was neatly combed to the side, and though he wasn't in derby uniform, he looked every bit the part—handsome, poised, and effortlessly magnetic.
"Goldie Junior, right?" he said, stepping closer.
Patricia smiled, her tension easing.
"How did you know?"
Bernard chuckled.
"Isn't it obvious? The way you pamper him—it's clear Liberty holds a special place in your heart. He's not just a horse to you. He reminds you of someone... someone you once loved."
Patricia's smile softened.
"You're right. Liberty is Goldie's offspring. I found out when I bought him at an auction six months ago. The owner was a close friend of my father's, but his business was struggling, so he had to sell off his horses to keep his family afloat."
She paused, her voice tinged with memory.
"He'd bought Goldie from us years ago, after she injured her leg at the ranch. She couldn't race anymore, but she became my dad's horse for the speed trials. She was fast as the wind. She always made us proud."
She smiled down at Liberty.
"And now her son is making me proud too."
Liberty neighed softly and nudged her hand, as if to say I hear you.
Bernard grinned and stroked Liberty's gleaming coat.
"I've tested him myself. He's strong, healthy, and built for the endurance of the marathon. You've got a real shot at winning this thing. Right, big guy?"
Liberty neighed again, earning a laugh from both of them.
"Indeed," Patricia said, caressing Liberty's nose. "We'll win this thing together."
She glanced at Bernard's attire.
"But you're not dressed for the derby. Don't tell me you're bailing out?"
Bernard's smile faded.
"Unfortunately, yes. My name didn't make the final list. I guess someone couldn't handle the idea of me training you. Word got out, and suddenly I'm off the team. Carlos and Steven too."
Patricia's eyes narrowed.
"What? That's absurd. Are we not allowed to train each other anymore?"
"We're competitors, Patricia. There's no official rule against it, but when the Golden Horse speaks..."
He shrugged.
"We follow. No questions asked."
Then, under his breath,
"...Even if it's bullshit."
'Montenegra.'
The name struck like a whip.
'The Golden Horse. The leader of the club. Did he pull Bernard, Carlos, and Steven just to sabotage me? To make things harder? The nerve of that bastard.'
Rage simmered beneath her skin, hot and rising.
"So we can't even challenge him, no matter what he says?" Patricia asked, frustration simmering in her voice.
"Well... not always," Bernard replied. "He does have the authority to choose participants for the derby season based on last year's performance—or whenever the hell he feels like it. The jerk."
He exhaled sharply.
"But he doesn't have the power to sideline them forever. Especially not when a racer gains as much attention as you have. That kind of popularity makes you a threat. A potential challenger for the Golden Horse's throne. And by tradition, someone must challenge the throne eventually. That's how a new leader is crowned."
He stepped closer, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.
"So no, he can't stop you. But he can make your life hell. He'll use every dirty trick in the book to sabotage you. That's how he stays in power."
Patricia's jaw tightened.
"So he kicked you, Carlos, and Steven out... just to isolate me?"
Bernard nodded grimly.
"And replaced us with his loyal lapdogs. Be careful out there, Rookie. Especially with the Bulldog. That name wasn't given lightly—and trust me, it's not a compliment."
Patricia sighed, her eyes narrowing.
"When do I race him? Will he be in every event?"
"No," Bernard said. "You'll face him in the Marathon. Each race has its own champion contender. You'll need to defeat all three—Speed, Obstacle, and Hurdle—to qualify for the Marathon. That's when you'll face him."
"And if I don't make it into the top five?" she asked quietly.
"Do I still get to race him?"
Bernard's voice turned fierce.
"You will make it into the top five. That's not up for debate. And when you do, you'll race that bastard—and you'll win. Got that? Don't you dare think otherwise."
Patricia smiled, warmed by his fire.
"Thank you, Bernard. I promise I'll give it everything I've got. For me. For my family. We deserve this. And I'm not backing down."
"That's the spirit," he said, pride gleaming in his eyes.
Suddenly, the arena erupted with the booming voice of the announcer:
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the 60th edition of the World Horse Derby Racing Championship Season—live from Costa Rica! Today, we witness the mightiest riders and their noble steeds battle for glory and fame on the track. But this year, history is being rewritten. For the first time ever, a woman will race among them! Her viral tryout stunned the world with the prowess of a true champion. Will she rise to the occasion and claim her place in the winner's circle? We're about to find out in today's opening event—The Speed Race! Racers, prepare! The race begins in ten minutes!"
The crowd roared, a tidal wave of cheers shaking the very air.
Patricia's breath hitched.
"This is it..." she whispered.
Bernard rubbed her shoulders gently.
"Don't worry. You've got this. I believe in you."
She turned to him with a soft smile.
"Thank you, Bernard."
Then, with a teasing sigh, she stepped out of his hold.
"I guess it's time to see if your crappy, jerk-level training actually paid off. Just know—if I lose, it's your fault."
Bernard leaned in, his voice low and playful.
"And if you win? What do I get as a reward, hmm?"
Patricia met his gaze. His golden-brown eyes sparkled with mischief, and she could feel his breath ghosting across her skin. Her heart betrayed her—racing, fluttering, aching in her chest.
He was too close.
Too close for comfort.
And she hated how he always made her heart stutter like this. She didn't want to mislead him. She didn't mean to. But her body didn't seem to care. And Bernard... Bernard was too good. Too kind. Too perfect to be hurt.
Bernard saw it all—the flicker of conflict in her eyes, the way she fought her own feelings like a warrior in denial. It stung, but he understood.
Still, he had made up his mind.
He would win her heart—even if it meant getting scorched by the fire she tried so hard to hide. Her fury, her passion, her strength... it was all worth the burn.
With that thought, he leaned in, daring once again to steal a kiss. Even if it was brief. Even if it earned him a slap. Just one taste of those rosy lips would be enough.
But as usual—
"Mmmmm....mmm!"
Fate, as always, had other plans.
It never let him get that kiss.
So unfair.
Both heads turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Isaac stood at the entrance of the stables, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his black denim trousers. He wore a fitted black shirt and matching boots, his golden-brown hair tousled in that maddeningly effortless, cowboy-sexy way.
He was a stark contrast to Bernard—and a rival in every sense of the word.
And neither man liked that. Not one bit.
"Isaac," Patricia said, her voice softening as she stepped away from Bernard and walked toward him.
Bernard exhaled, slow and measured.
"You know, Phillips," he said, voice low but clear, "I didn't want to admit it at first... but you really are lucky to have her by your side. I just hope you realize it—and stop wasting her time. It would be a shame to see a woman like her get played... and left brokenhearted."
Isaac snorted.
"Then it's a good thing I'm a man of my word. I keep my promises. And I can assure you—none of what you're expecting is going to happen."
He turned to Patricia, gently taking her hand in his. His eyes locked with hers.
"I know exactly what kind of treasure I have. And I'll treat her with the care and love she deserves. So rest easy, Mr. Crisby—she's not going to get hurt."
Bernard chuckled, but there was no humor in it.
"Well then... I'm glad to hear it."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Standing beside Isaac, he leaned in and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear:
"Because I'll enjoy your defeat all the more."
Isaac stiffened. His smile faltered.
Bernard's voice dropped, smooth and sharp as a blade.
"Know this, Phillips—what's rotten can never stay hidden. The stench always draws the flies, no matter how deep you bury it."
Isaac turned to face him, jaw tight.
"The truth always finds a way out. And when it does... what a messy downfall that'll be. Isn't that right?"
Bernard's gaze flicked briefly to Patricia.
"And I know someone who hates messy secrets."
Patricia, noticing Isaac's sudden pallor, leaned in slightly, trying to catch what was being said.
Bernard straightened, his tone shifting back to casual charm.
"So I hope you take good care of her."
Patricia looked between them, confused. The tension was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Bernard turned to her with a wink.
"Good luck, Miss Patricia. And remember..."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"It started with a race... and it will end with a race."
He smiled.
"Now go show them hell."
Patricia nodded, watching him stride out of the stables with the confidence of a man who always knew more than he let on.
She turned to Isaac.
His face was still pale.
"Isaac? Are you okay? What did he say to you?"
Isaac sighed.
"It's nothing, Sweeches. Your jerkass trainer just doesn't know his limits—and that pisses me off. But it's nothing to worry about. He'll be disappointed soon enough."
He exhaled again, slower this time.
"So... are you ready?"
Patricia shook her head.
"No. I'm not. I'm not confident about this at all. Montenegra removed Bernard, Carlos, and Steven from the race after finding out they were training me."
"What?" Isaac's eyes widened.
"Wait—he has the power to do that?"
"Yes. He's the Golden Horse and the leader of the club. He's allowed to make those decisions. According to Bernard, he's already planted his minions in the race to sabotage me. I don't know what they've planned... but I'm worried it could be brutal."
Isaac stepped closer, cupping her face gently.
"Hey. Hey. It's okay, Sweeches. You're a great racer. And I know you're going to win this. You're going to shame that bastard, got it? And all those people who think you can't do this? You'll leave them choking in your dust."
He kissed her softly, then pulled back with a smile.
"You've got this. Okay?"
Patricia nodded, her smile returning.
"Thank you, my love. I'll do my best."
"You will." Isaac's voice turned serious.
"Now I've got to mobilize the team around the arena. You just keep your eyes peeled for the signs Alisha told you about. Be ready for anything. No surprises."
"Okay, I will. But... is Alisha okay? Did she get discharged?"
Isaac nodded.
"Yes. Earlier today. I'm sure she and your family are watching the race on TV. They'll be here tomorrow. I've already assigned agents to protect them. So far, no sign of X's men. He probably thinks the PD worked and that we've let our guard down."
"Or maybe..." Patricia murmured, "he thinks she agreed to be his nephew's girlfriend and doesn't see the need to bother."
Isaac frowned.
"No... I don't think so. But we'll stay alert just in case. I'm also investigating the 'angel' who saved Alisha and gave her that information. She's a ghost—no known identity. That makes her dangerous. And I don't like her connection to Mr. X. All we know is her last name: McCoy."
Patricia's eyes widened.
"Wait. Did you just say... McCoy?"
"Mmm... yeah. Why? Do you know them?"
"Yeah! The McCoys were related to the Plumberry family. I read about it—they were in-laws. There's history there."
Before Isaac could respond, the announcer's voice thundered across the arena:
"Racers! Take your positions—it's time for the race!"
Patricia turned sharply to Isaac.
"The McCoys' old family mansion is here in Costa Rica. In the town of Peruz. Go! Find it—while everyone's distracted by the race!"
A stablehand rushed in.
"Miss Patricia! It's time!"
"I'm coming!" she called, then turned back to Isaac.
"Go."
She mouthed: 'Be careful. I love you.'
Isaac caught her gaze, smiled, and blew her a kiss.
Patricia turned, guiding Speed out of his stall, her heart pounding as they made their way to the starting line.
Meanwhile, Isaac slipped out the other side of the stables, pulling out his phone.
"It's me," he said into the receiver.
"I need a favor. Can you locate a place for me?"